


Orange

by two_drama_nerds_in_a_boat



Series: Bailor's Femslash February 2021 [5]
Category: Scooby Doo - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Femslash February, Gay Fred Jones, Ghosts, Incredibly Mild Horror Elements, Lesbian Velma Dinkley, Nonbinary Shaggy Rogers, Orange - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29219475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/two_drama_nerds_in_a_boat/pseuds/two_drama_nerds_in_a_boat
Summary: Daphne Blake doesn't know how to voice her feelings for the cute girl in her history class. Velma Dinkley's just trying to solve another murder.
Relationships: Daphne Blake/Velma Dinkley
Series: Bailor's Femslash February 2021 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139363
Comments: 27
Kudos: 77
Collections: Femslash February





	1. The First Meeting, The Morgue, And The Mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay lads, I want you to know that writing this I know literally nothing about how solving murders actually works but I know everything about Scooby-Doo lore so there's going to be an interesting mix of accurate and completely bullshit information in here and y'all are just gonna have to be along for the ride.
> 
> Warnings: The D Slur is used three times in this fic, and there is some mild mentioned lesbophobia against Velma. I am a lesbian and am drawing from my own experiences while writing about Velma's own experiences as the only out lesbian at her school. If this sort of thing could potentially upset or trigger you I encourage you to go read another fic. Please keep yourself safe. 
> 
> If that sort of thing does not bother you, please continue onward.

The air is cold around her as she walks from school to the morgue today, the seeping sort of cold that doesn't seem so bad at first, but gets you all the same. The type of cold that kills, sometimes, if you're not careful. But Velma Dinkley's careful, she thinks - though she wishes she'd worn more layers as she pulls her giant orange sweater tighter around herself, and walks onward into the cold. 

Velma Dinkley wears an orange sweater and a red skirt and clunky shoes and maybe they don’t look good together but Velma Dinkley never gave a shit about how she looked or color theory (outside of academic pursuits) so she keeps her hair short and she wears bulky, boyish glasses and she dresses however the fuck she wants, and doesn’t give a shit what people think. 

Velma Dinkley is the resident dyke. That’s literally what they call her. She can’t say that she doesn’t mind; she wishes that she wasn’t gawked at, wasn’t made a spectacle of, wasn’t being thrown words her way that were meant to be cruel and scathing. But she also can’t say that the rumors aren’t true - they are. Velma Dinkley _is_ a dyke. That’s part of why she wears the ugly orange sweater; at this point, she doesn’t give a shit what people think of her, and if they’re already gonna make her an outcast because of who she wants to kiss, she figures there’s no point in trying to wear something just because people want her to. So she wears that godawful orange sweater, too big for her and too bright a color, that horrible eye burning orange. But hey - the sweater’s soft, it’s warm, and she got it cheap from the Goodwill next to the morgue, after her first case. It’s served her well ever since, and it never gets in the way of fingerprinting cadavers. 

She passes the tall rich girl, Daphne Blake on her way to the morgue, and doesn't bother a second look. She thinks she knows what Daphne's all about; route memorization for every test, joining every club, doing just enough community service to look good on a college application. Velma slides through the doors of the morgue (they don't even try to keep her out, anymore, not when she solves more cold cases on her own than any of the cops combined) and she doesn't give Daphne a second thought beyond that. She's just a girl that Daphne goes to school with. Velma walks through another set of doors, clear and shiny and new, and into a new room and she catches a glimpse of herself in those new doors, godawful orange sweater and all. 

Daphne Blake thinks Velma’s sweater is cute. 

Well. She thinks _Velma’s_ cute, more than anything, but she’s not so sure she's comfortable saying that part out loud, yet. 

Daphne Blake, who’s on student council, who’s their class secretary, who was a Girl Scout all through middle school and took ballroom dancing and fencing and chess and theatre and polo because her parents made her, who has always been at the top of their class, not necessarily because she’s the smartest, but because she knows how to memorize information, because she’s been trained to be perfect. Because Daphne Blake is a Blake, and all Blake’s are perfect. And if they’re not, they’re not a true Blake, are they? That’s something her parents like to remind her, even now. 

Daphne Blake’s not clever, but she’s smart. She sits back and she watches things happen, and then she learns. She’s been on this Earth for seventeen years; she knows a few things. She knows that if you tie your hair a certain way, you can get people to ignore you, and that if you do it up a different way, you can get everyone to look at you like you’re the Prom Queen (which she was; Junior Prom, last year, with Fred Jones on her arm). She knows that if you bend your hair pin a certain way, you can use it and a pair of nail clippers to pick old locks. She knows that if you hold a birth control pill too long on your tongue it starts to taste like the blood from a split lip. She knows that if you're pretty and you giggle and you sit around being sweet to people long enough, they start to talk about things like you're not there, like you couldn't care less about them. She learned a lot of things that way.

She knows close to nothing about Velma Dinkley. 

That's the problem with getting most of her information through sitting and listening; you only ever get what people talk about, and _no one_ seems to talk about Velma Dinkley (other than "Ha yeah she's a dyke" and "Nah she didn't know what tonight's homework was, ask Vince") and Daphne can't for the life of her understand why. As far as she can tell, Velma's the most interesting thing to ever happen to this shitty town (Oh Coolsville, how ironic your name is) other than maybe Fred Jones trying to start a Rube Goldberg Machine Club at school, or that one time the stoner kid in the green shirt brought his dog to school, and Daphne could've sworn she heard it talk. But those were mostly one-time things. Fred was shut down (he's really the only person in town who actually cares about intricate traps and machines, anyway) and Shaggy was sent home for the day, as far as Daphne could tell. Velma's interesting a consistent, stunning, absolutely undyingly intriguing way, and Daphne's chasing after her, but if Velma Dinkley's anything, she's impossible to track down. Daphne knows next to nothing about her. She knows this: Velma Dinkley has short-cropped hair and glasses that make her beautiful black eyes bigger and she’s sharp as a tack but doesn’t seem to use any of it at school. She said something funny under her breath in History, once, and Daphne barely caught it but once she did she had to shove her hand in her mouth to stop the laugh. Velma Dinkley doesn’t do sports (Daphne does five, right now - soccer, lacrosse, track and field, volleyball, horseback riding) and she spends her time after school in the town library, or down at the morgue, and Daphne doesn’t know _how_ a seventeen-year-old even got access to the morgue in the first place, but she’s determined to find out. 

Rumor has it that Velma Dinkley's trying to solve a murder, or something along those lines. Rumor has it that the murder had to do with Velma Dinkley's ex-girlfriend. Daphne has her doubts about the second half of the rumor (as far as she can tell, Marcie Fleach, Velma's ex, is still alive and well and living in a relatively murder-free environment) but she's willing to believe the first, considering the amount of times she's found Velma walking from school to the morgue, or school to the police station, or school to the public library where Daphne can only assume she sits down at one of those little tables they have in the back corner and she flips open her laptop and connects to the public WiFi and starts hacking into old records... or something. Daphne's never actually followed her. She just notes which direction Velma goes in when she leaves school in the afternoons, and once Daphne makes note of something, she has a difficult time forgetting it. 

Velma Dinkley's sitting in the morgue, listening to the embalmers talk about the cause of death, and she's really only been half-listening to their conversation as she writes down choppy answers to her Bio 2 homework until she hears one of them say the word ghost and she looks up faster than she'd have liked (quick movements are suspicious, that's something she learned early on) and she starts to listen in full-time, because _oh, this is gonna be a good one._

"They say he died of shock. 'Course, it's probably just your run of the mill heart attack. He's old, after all." 

"I'm sorry Melanie, but a ghost? Sounds like some kids spreading a rumor, having fun at a dead man's expense." 

Velma looks back down at her homework, and tries to subtly pull out another notebook, a personal notebook, and jot down some key words she hears. _Ghost. Heart attack. Inheritance._

Melanie and Lynda may as well be solving the case themselves - so fare they've given her a cause of death, witnesses, and a motive. When they drop the address of the deceased man's home, it's almost too good to be true. But Velma doesn't spare a moment to think that over; she scribbles down the address, gathers her things, and before she even realizes she's walking she's out the doors of the morgue, and quick on her way to the crime scene. She's moving so fast she doesn't even notice Daphne Blake dragging her feet on the sidewalk, trying to take as long as possible to get home so she can avoid being with her family. Velma Dinkley has solving murder on her mind; Velma Dinkley doesn't have the time to notice when Daphne sees her, turns around, and starts following her all the way to the house. It's only when Velma finally stops in the driveway that she notices she's gained a companion. 

"What're you doing here?" Velma asks, not even looking at Daphne. 

"Bored," says Daphne. It's true, at least. "You?"

Velma doesn't answer. She walks ahead a bit more and ducks down in front of the house's porch, watching and waiting as she pulls a slim notebook out of her bag. 

"Solving a mystery?" Daphne asks. 

"Technically, a murder," Velma mutters. "But to each their own." 

She's crouching in the shrubs outside the house, though Daphne doesn't see much point in it - winter's fast approaching, and the cold has already stripped the shrubs of their leaves. The scraggly brown bones left behind aren't nearly enough for Velma to hide behind, especially not with that fluorescent orange sweater making her stand out already. But still, Velma's crouching, she's hiding, and Daphne figures if she wants to be let in on this, she should crouch too. 

"There's no one in side, you know," Daphne says. "Derrick's mom does realtor work in this area, says they haven't even put the house on the market yet. It's just standing empty. Guy's family was estranged so when he died they didn't come to sort things out. There's no one home." 

For the first time in her life, Velma Dinkley turns and looks at Daphne Blake, giving her her full attention. Then, she says, "You think I'm going to break into this house?"

Daphne shrugs. "It'd get you clues faster." Velma still doesn't reply; she looks nearly entirely exasperated. "It's not that hard to break into places, y'know," Daphne Blake says, like she's done it a thousand times before, like it's a normal occurrence and not a crime that could land them in jail. "You just have to act like you belong. Like you're meant to be here." 

"Hmph." Velma grunts in response. 

"It's easy! Look," Daphne starts to casually stand up from behind the shrubs, walk around like she owns the place. "See? Easy money." 

"And what if the home owner walks in, and you're caught? What then?"

Daphne wears a look of pretty damn convincing surprise. "Oh dear!" She says, playing up her I'm-so-fucking-cute-and-I-could-never-do-anything-wrong act. "You're not Uncle... when he said he'd switched homes I didn't think this would be a problem - he said he left the door unlocked and so when the address matched and the I saw the back door open I just assumed... I'm so sorry, ma'am, I'll be out right away. Could I borrow the phone to call Uncle before I leave?" And then, just like that, she drops the act and holds herself like a person again. "See?" 

"I think we have incredibly different methods for staying out of trouble." 

"Fine." Daphne sighs. "You sit back out here, and I'll break into the place for you, and then if we get caught-"

"When we get caught."

" _If_ we get caught," Daphne repeats. "I'll say it's all my fault and you had nothing to do with this and you walked past me and tried to talk me out of it. We don't know each other, after all. Just in a few of the same classes. If they catch me breaking in and you're nearby, it'll be a convincing story." 

Velma says something under her breath about how any story is convincing to the dumbass cops in this town with shit for brains. But she doesn't stop Daphne as she starts to look around the front porch, eyes darting from the faded doormat to the ancient wind chimes to the old rocking chair that no one's ever sat in. Finally, she spots what she must've been looking for - a large stone, probably for lawn decoration or something of the kind, sitting on it's own in the far corner of the porch. She walks over to the stone like she's done this a thousand times, and picks it up, revealing a little key. Then she turns back to face Velma and prances, almost gleefully, over to her.

Daphne Blake has dirt under her purple-painted nails from digging in the earth with her hands. Gardening, Velma assumes, maybe something else. Their hands touch as she hands Velma the key, old and rusted a dark brown.

"Want to do the honors?" She asks.

Velma gives her an odd look, the sort she gives to the ciphered letters the cops let her decode now and then at the police station. "You sure you want to go through with this?" She asks. "There's a lot going on, here. Breaking and entering, a murder, being seen with the resident dyke..."

"No one calls you that," Daphne says, trying to make her feel better.

" _Everyone_ calls me that." She sighs. "Not that I think anyone's actually going to see us here. But I thought... well, I thought I ought to warn you." 

"No need to warn me. I know what I'm getting into."

"There's also a ghost involved," Velma adds, remembering what Melanie and Lynda said earlier. "Did you know about that?"

Daphne pauses for a second. "I... didn't, actually. Thanks."

"No problem." Velma reaches up a hand and adjusts her glasses. "Okay. Um..." she doesn't know what to do.

Daphne grabs her hand and holds it. "We're gonna go find a ghost."

"Actually, _I_ planned on solving a murder-"

"Velma?"

"Yes?"

Daphne squeezes her hand. "I'd love to talk, but we've got work to do. Go on and turn the key." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this fic please leave comments and kudos, this is my first Scooby-Doo fic and I'd really like to know what you thought of it!


	2. Don't Look Back, You May Find Another Clue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't supposed to be a multi chap fic but y'all were right. It felt like one. So here we go...

The house is old and the floorboards creak as she walks on them, sharp cracks under Velma's feet. For an amateur detective, Velma's surprisingly bad at stealth. She just doesn't have much reason to sneak around, is all - most of her cases have to do with dead people, and most of the time the dead people involved don't have a lot going for them, and it's just Velma and abandoned places. She's not used to dealing with ghosts, no matter how fake they likely are. Daphne, on the other hand, walks through the halls like she _is_ a ghost, silent, feet light and soft. She sticks to the very edges of the wood panel flooring, hopping to rugs when she can find them, never making any noise louder than the gentle brush of converse on carpet. 

"My house is like this," she says, when Velma looks back at her for the third time, as if she finds such stealth impossible. "Y'know, old and stuff. Me and my sisters used to play hide-and-seek all around it when we were younger." She keeps her eyes on her feet as she speaks, watching the unfamiliar floor for spots that look like they'll cause problems. "Did you know that the secret to winning isn't about being a good hider? It's being able to shift between hiding spots without being noticed." 

Velma raises an eyebrow. "Isn't switching hiding spots cheating?"

Daphne chances a look up at Velma. Grins at her. " _Nothing's_ cheating when you're the youngest sibling. It's you against the world." 

They've made it through a good portion of the house, now, through the front hall and into what looks like a living room. Velma reaches over and tests the lights. 

Nothing.

"Look's like they've already cut the power," Velma says. She reaches into her bag for a flashlight, clicking it on and shining it around the room. It's about what you'd expect from an old, dead man's house. New England style architecture, odd for Coolsville California, but not completely out of the question, if you're eccentric. A Lay-Z Boy in the corner facing the fire place. Drapes with a pattern so gaudy, Daphne wants to call the fashion police to take them down here and now. Velma shines her flashlight across the room, and finds a bookshelf, and a desk. 

"Bingo," she says. "Come on, Blake." 

Daphne looks up, surprised at the sound of her name. Daphne Blake's not used to being useful. She's not used to be asked after, unless it's in relation to money. Or sex. She takes out her phone and flips the flashlight on, following close after Velma, keeping her footsteps quiet, though it really doesn't mean much what with Velma's still echoing off the walls. Daphne notes the titles of the books on the shelf; books about success, about finding yourself, about retirement plans and cooking your own meals, titles written in golden letters on the spines. 

"So what's the deal with this guy?" Asks Daphne. So far the only new thing she's learned is that this guy was _incredibly_ boring and lonely. And those two fun facts are definitely connected. 

"Not sure, yet," Velma says, already flicking open desk drawers with methodical precision. Hey eyes run quick over the documents in the drawers. Unfiled taxes, quick notes-to-self, a Chinese takeout menu from the good place downtown. "Found out about him from the women at the morgue." 

"The women at the mor-?"

"Not important," Velma says before Daphne can even finish the question, waving it away with her hand. "They were looking at this dude's cadaver, I think? I try not to look directly at them, it makes them think I'm listening." 

"But you _were_ listening."

"Not important." Velma Dinkley shuts the drawers, and starts looking through the paperwork still laid out on the desk. She holds the flashlight between her teeth, freeing up her hands to rifle through her bag once more. This time, she pulls out a magnifying glass, something old and sturdy she picked up from the Goodwill by the morgue when she realized that her glasses weren't enough for a crime scene. Once she's pulled it out, she moves the flashlight back into her other hand, dual wielding it with the magnifying glass, feeling like goddamn Nancy Drew. "I picked out some key words; from what I can tell, the dude died of a heart attack not that long ago. Like, maybe a few days ago. And they think he must've left some sort of inheritance, but the lawyers are pretty busy running around right now just trying to find his will - which is missing, by the way. Oh. And also."

"Yeah?"

Velma sighs, pulling the magnifying glass away from her face for a second so she can look up at Daphne. "I heard something about a ghost." 

Daphne Blake's never seen a ghost, before. To be completely honest, she doesn't really think they exist. Daphne's never really thought about what happens to you after you died, not even after her favorite Nana passed away when she was in the fifth grade and she nearly entered an existential crisis. But she _didn't_ have an existential crisis, because she told the thoughts not to bother her, trained herself to switch the tracks on her train of thought as soon as it approached unappealing stations. Whenever she started thinking too hard about death, she imagined being a fashion designer in Paris instead. Or being a fighter pilot. Or working at Vogue. Or she went out for a ride on her motorbike, a few laps around the neighborhood, and she didn't think about death at all. So she doesn't think about ghosts, and when she does, she definitely doesn't think they exist. 

She's about to say something about how _That's absurd,_ or, _You don't actually believe that, right?_ But then Velma makes a frustrated sound and mutters, "Fuck." And Velma's hands are full right now, but if they weren't she'd have them on her hips. She's obviously annoyed. 

"What is it?"

Velma's glaring down at the document-covered desk as if it's personally wronged her. "I need to dust for fingerprints, but I don't have any..." 

"Will blush work?" Daphne's already looking through her purse. "I've got a makeup brush too - here you go?"

Velma's eyes are big behind her glasses, and Daphne thinks she almost sees her smile. "Um, yeah," Velma tucks the magnifying glass in her pocket to take the blush, and tries to stop blushing herself. "That's perfect." 

While Velma's dusting for prints, Daphne walks the length of the room, keeping up a constant watch. She knows that logically, it's just her and Velma in here. Except it just doesn't feel that way. It feels like something's watching her.

"It's exactly as I thought!" Velma exclaims from somewhere behind her. "Two completely different sets of prints... sure, it might be the lawyers, but they're supposed to be at the firm, looking to see if the dude had any relatives... so who else would...?"

Daphne Blake tunes Velma out, feels a chill run down her spin and tugs her purple jacket tighter around her. She's starting to realize for the first time just how dark it is in here, even with both her and Velma using some sort of flashlight. The gaudy drapes are drawn over the windows, and Daphne desperately wants to move them out of the way, to just shine some literal light on their situation, but she knows better; leave everything as you found it. Only thought things when necessary. She turns her gaze to the walls around her, covered in paintings - not a photograph among them. An old fashioned guy, she assumes. It makes sense he might collect art, if it was something he enjoyed, if he had no family, like Velma's said. She just wishes that he wasn't so fond of old oil portraits of people who are probably long-dead. And of course, Daphne doesn't scare easily (a handful of older sisters will prepare you for every sort of jumpscare, and she thinks she's grown quite accustomed to spooky things) but she can't help but feel that the portraits are watching her, that their eyes follow her as she walks the length of the room. And when Daphne thinks she sees something moving out of the corner of her eye, she snaps around to look at it, hands out in front of her, feet in a fighting stance she remembers from when she took karate in middle school. But when she turns, there's nothing there. Just an empty doorway, and Velma giving her an odd look from where she stands at the desk. 

"You okay, Blake?" She asks. Velma Dinkley isn't used to friends, but she thinks that you're supposed to check up on them when they're readying themselves to fight shadows. 

"Fine," Daphne says, shaking herself out of it. "I'm fine." 

Velma nods. "Come on," she says. "I've got all I need from this desk. I think there's another room through here," she points to the door that Daphne's facing, the one she thought she saw a figure standing in. "Let's go." 

Daphne nods, waiting for Velma to join her before they continue onward. It looks like this one's the kitchen, done spin black-and-white tile, dishes still sitting unwashed in the sink, a pot on the stove that Velma's incredibly grateful still has a lid on it - she hates to think what sort of rotten concoction might be sitting beneath. Overall, it's not too bad. But there's something weird, in this room. Something smells off... literally. And not the rotten food smell, or the rat poison smell, or the way the tile's like sulfur, and feels course under her hands instead of smooth. It smells like smoke in here, and Velma Dinkley tells herself that this could be explained away by anything. But in all her time solving cold cases that the cops couldn't crack, Velma knows that when something's weird, it's usually worth noting. Because it tends to be a clue. 

"Hey, do you smell that-?"

Before she can finish, Daphne's thrown a hand over her mouth, and is pulling her behind the kitchen island, crouched and hiding. And that's when Velma hears it. 

_Footsteps._

They're faint, but they're there. Velma looks at Daphne, unsure what to do - their only way out is back the way they came, as far as she can tell, unless the Blake girl wants to learn how to climb out a window, and from all that Velma can tell, it'll take a while before she's at that level of sleuthing. But Daphne seems to already have a plan. Velma remembers what she told her before they broke in: _You just have to act like you belong. Like you're meant to be here._ And that's obviously what Daphne plans to do as she stands up, already dusting herself off and fixing her hair, tying it up in a way that says "I'm young and childish and naive, I could never do anything illegal," and as the footsteps get louder and louder Daphne leans against the counter, facing the wall away from the door, no doubt prepping a story of some sort. And Velma can't see anything behind Daphne's feet, the island blocking most of her view, but she hears the footsteps reach their loudest point and then stop, and Daphne turns, already donning a faux-shocked expression, no doubt prepping her 'You're not Uncle!' speech for whoever their new guest is. Except the words never even leave her mouth. Because as soon as she sees what she's up against, she knows no words will help her. 

She finds herself face to face with a ghost, and she's never seen a ghost before, and she wants to run away but she feels frozen, so she just stands there and stares at the specter. And then Velma's shouting "HOLY FUCKING SHIT" and there's a sound like a phone camera taking a picture, and then Velma's hand is tight around Daphne's arm, and Velma Dinkley's dragging Daphne Blake out of the kitchen through the dining room through the living room past the godawful gaudy drapes that should be burned in hell through the front hallway and out the door, and before she knows it they've collapsed together in the bushes, Velma falling in the leaves and grass breathing heavily, Daphne still too stunned to talk. They sit there and watch the door slam shut behind them, without anyone visibly closing it, and the wind whistles loud in their ears, and Daphne slowly sits up and runs her hands through her hair.

"Holy shit..." Velma whispers. 

"Mother of God," Daphne says. 

They turn to each other in unison, reaching their conclusion simultaneously. 

"This place might actually be haunted." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts about this, please leave comments and kudos!! You can also visit me [on tumblr](https://homeworkforpigeons.tumblr.com) to listen to me rant about literature and Lumberjanes and Scooby Doo.


	3. Filler Thriller Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is our (Filler) Thriller chapter... I'm queuing everything up so that hopefully we meet Shaggy and Fred soon, but for now please enjoy some girls having conversations with each other abt life and ghost hunting <3

Velma says it first. "We need to get out of here." 

They're still in the leaves out in front of the house, hiding in the bushes all splayed out on the ground from where they threw themselves, breathing heavy for minutes even though they know they shouldn't be here, anymore. Velma knows enough about how ghosts theoretically work, thanks to one of her cousins and his seemingly infinite knowledge of them. She knows that they tend to be tied to a certain location, sometimes an item, and so long as you don't fuck with their home or whatever, you're fine. You've just gotta stay somewhat out of bounds. So Velma thinks, theoretically, if what they just saw _was_ a real ghost (which she sincerely doubts, no matter how convincing - it's just too damn _convenient,_ is all) it won't be able to get them, here. But what Velma's more concerned about right now is their odds of being spotted by the police. Or goddamned neighborhood watch... she hates neighborhood watch, always messing with her crime-solving. Or maybe just some kid from their school, who could see the resident dyke with the (Junior) Prom Queen and draw all sorts of conclusion, spread so many rumors, and sure Velma's used to rumors but she'd never want to drag anyone else into that sort of thing...

"Where to?"

It takes Velma a moment to process the question. She hadn't really thought about that, up until now - she'd been more focused on finding clues, not getting caught, figuring out what the fuck that "ghost" was in there (she refuses to believe it's real, no matter how convincing it appeared), the fact that Daphne Blake decided to come with her and that she let it happen and the Daphne Blake hasn't abandoned her, not yet, that she's still sitting right here, close enough to touch, which is weird because everyone leaves Velma eventually, and she's never made it so far as to think about what might happen after she first meets anyone. She's not used to people sticking around. 

She tells herself to push all of those thoughts aside, no matter how much her brain wants to pick away at them and find some fucking _answers_ for once. Velma Dinkley takes a deep breath. Pushes her glasses back up onto her nose (they'd been slipping, after so much running and jumping and falling). Processes Daphne's question. 

"Well..." she thinks. "S'pose we could try the school laps, though come to think of it, they're probably fully locked down, now... jinkies, the library'll be shutting down, too, school one and the town one..." she runs through the times in her head, has their closing hours memorized. "Um. We could go to my house? Figure out what to do from here. Normally I take the bus, but..." she thinks about the time tables in her head. "Shit, we've missed that, too-"

"It's okay," Daphne says, sitting up, clearly trying to be helpful. "I've got a motorbike, it seats two people just fine. You can sit on the back, I'll get you home, and we'll work through what we just saw." 

Velma blinks. "Oh - okay, um..." she clears her throat, tries to get words out, _why is it so hard to get words out around Daphne Blake of all people?_ "Are you sure - it's a school night, what about your parents-?"

Daphne waves the thought away like it's nothing. "They don't pay any real attention to me unless they're trying to micromanage which activities I do when. Tonight I was supposed to have water polo until nine, but Gary and Ethan were hungover and upchucked in the pool, remember? It's being cleaned out, practice was canceled. I should be free until about..." she thinks through it. "Eight thirty. And I can get myself home, you don't have to worry about that. Sound good?"

"Yeah, okay," Velma nods. "So. Where's this motorbike?"

It turns out the motorbike's just around the corner, tucked in the bushes by the school. It's painted a bright shade of hot pink, which really should be no surprise. There's just enough room that Velma can see she'll probably be able to fit, but she suddenly realizes how close she'll have to Daphne she'll be, and she tries not to think about what people will say if they see the two girls together. 

"I've only got one helmet, you can have it, and I'll go without," Daphne Blake says, tying up her long auburn hair into a tight bun. She learned that skill from ballet, second grade, an activity her parents quickly traded out for fencing when they realized it looked more appealing on college applications. Daphne grabs the helmet from where it sits clipped onto the back of the bike, and passes it to Velma. "Here you go." 

Velma takes it, trying to take her mind off the task at hand by thinking about the mystery. Because oh boy, there's definitely a mystery. She's already running through the clues in her mind: the empty house, the way Blake was acting (all twitchy, like she was seeing things), the weird smokey smell in the kitchen, the _ghost..._ and before she knows it she's somehow ended up on the back of a motorbike, hands hooked around Daphne's waist as she maneuvers them out from behind the bushes in front of the school and onto the road. 

"Which way to your house?" She asks, nearly yelling over the sound of the wind rushing past them as they speed down the road.

Velma gives short, clipped directions - _Left here,_ _right at the light, turn at the stop sign, go through this stop sign no one cares about it_ \- and then they're in Velma's back yard, and Velma's helping Daphne hide her motorcycle under a tarp so that passerbys don't get any ideas about theft and resale. It's a nice bike, even if the pink does make Velma's eyes burn behind her glasses. 

"Thanks for the ride," Velma says, voice her usual monotone as she unclips the helmet and sticks it under the tarp with the bike. 

"No problem," says Daphne. "Thanks for the adventure." 

Velma doesn't reply; she turns to the back of her house and goes over to the AC unit sticking out of the back right window.

Velma Dinkley doesn't have a house key. She has an AC unit that's always in the back right window, and she knows how to remove it and slip inside. She knows it's not a thing normal people do, but she really doesn't give a shit, and she's not watching Blake's face to see whether or not she cares. Velma Dinkley knows her house is nowhere near what Daphne's used to - Velma's parents work at the local tourist trap and the mayor's office respectively (her mom sells tourists t-shirts, her dad makes a living as a secretary) so they have a small, one-floor house with nothing but a laughingstock of a basement and a meager front porch. Velma shimmies though the window first, pushing herself up on the ledge and into her house like she always does, the same way she's done it a thousand times. But she's never helped a guest in this way before, so she tries her best to improvise, offers Daphne a hand up, and Daphne says it's okay, she can do it herself, and before she knows it Daphne Blake's done a mini-flip through her window because she's Daphne Blake and _of course_ she'd know how to do a forward flip through an open window...

"What next?" Asks Daphne, gently dusting off her still-pristine outfit. 

Velma gently pushes the AC unit back into place. She doesn't turn it on; it's the middle of autumn, and the unit's been broken for years, anyway. "We'll go to my room," she says. "My sister's home, but mom and dad won't be back until late, knowing them. We can borrow the family laptop and hopefully I'll be able to take a closer look at some of the pictures I snapped before we were chased out of the house." 

Velma doesn't add "by a ghost" to the end of that sentence, mostly because she thinks it'd sound stupid, and Velma refuses to sound stupid about anything, ever. But there's also a part of her that doesn't want to speak the theory into existence. She refuses to believe it was a ghost that spooked them into cutting their investigation short. There's more to this than just a simple haunting, she can _feel_ it.

As Velma leads her down the hallway, Daphne Blake tries not to stare at... well, _anything._ But it's hard. There's so much going on in this house, from the peeling flowery wallpaper to the pictures and posters taped haphazardly to the walls, not necessarily carelessly, but quickly, like the person hanging them up didn't know how much time they'd have and wanted to make sure they got this _done_ before something stole them away from their task. The ground beneath her feet is carpeted a soft brown, sticky in places, sometimes covered in LEGOs that Daphne tries her best not to step on. If there's a window, there's a virtual _garden_ of potted plants living in it, probably edible, though Daphne can't quite tell (she's never been in a cooking class, and she's never researched herbs for Girl Scouts), and there are bookshelves littered with _stuff,_ VHS tapes and broken CD cases and books that are falling apart at the spines, pages dripping out of them like blood from a wound, and when Velma tells Daphne "Duck, don't want to hit your head here" it's because there's a model spaceship suspended from the ceiling in this part of the house, and it's like a sort of Heaven Daphne didn't know existed outside of music videos and Spielberg movies. There are doors, too, some open, some closed - what looks like a closet full of oil paintings and vintage photographs, something that probably used to be a bathroom before it was covered in half-assembled tech, what Daphne assumes is an office, and then... a girl cutting someone in half?

"Um, Velma-" says Daphne, but the girl in the room hears her voice and snaps to look at her, before jumping up and down like a golden retriever. 

"Oh my God Velma did you get a friend? Is this your friend? Wait! Is she your girlfriend? Oh my God hi!!!" 

Velma rolls her eyes. "Don't mind Madelyn. She's just practicing her magic act... again." 

"I've nearly gotten it this time!" Shouts the girl from the other room. 

Velma gives Daphne a look. "She's _always_ 'nearly gotten it'." Velma sighs. "C'mon, family computer's in the kitchen, then we can go to my room." 

The kitchen, it turns out, is one of the cleaner parts of the house - pots and pans are neatly hung from hooks on the wall, a set of shelves serve as a pantry, and other than a sink full to the brim with dishes that desperately need to be cleaned, there doesn't seem to be much clutter anywhere. Velma walks over to the counter, which seems to double as a workspace and a meal spot, if the four stools beside it are anything to go by. She grabs a small, black laptop from the counter, carrying the charger cord with her, and then leads Daphne back to her room. 

"It's kinda small," she says. "But we can sit on the floor." 

Daphne notices that the door to Velma's room is blank, which is jarring after a house full of stuff. But she doesn't have much time to dwell on that thought, because before she knows it Velma's gently pushing the door open with her foot (her hands are full of a computer, right now) and she's walking into her room and Daphne's following her, and taking in an entirely new environment. Velma seems to decorate sparingly - she doesn't have much furniture other than a few bookshelves and the twin sized bed that takes up the majority of the room. Daphne notices the handmade quilt draped over it, and the lesbian flag draped over that - Velma probably uses it as an extra blanket. There's a cheap lava lamp on one of the bookshelves by the bed, the sort you'd win from a carnival, and the bookshelves themselves are covered in books on every subject imaginable. But then Daphne lifts her eyes to the walls, and she's looking at two bulletin boards; one, covered in headlines of unsolved mysteries, sticky notes and pushpins galore. The other, _solved_ mysteries. Headlines detailing Velma's accomplishments, and _jeepers,_ Daphne never realized how much Velma actually did for the town before now. There must be a couple hundred stories up there _alone_ and Daphne can't imagine what it must've been like solving all of those, just one person working by herself...

"You gonna sit down or not?" Asks Velma, and Daphne realizes how long she's been standing in the doorway just _looking,_ and she sits down beside Velma feeling a bit sheepish. 

"Sorry," she says. "Oh, do you want me to close the-?"

"Nah, don't close the door." Velma plugs the charger cord into an outlet in the corner and flips the laptop open so the screen lights up. "I love Madelyn but she's a blabber mouth with an active imagination who _desperately_ wants me to get a girlfriend. It's best for the both of us if we just leave it open." 

Daphne nods, even though she doesn't really get what Velma's so worried about. She doesn't think being mistaken for Velma's girlfriend would be so bad. 

"Okay," says Daphne. "So what do we do first? For the investigation, I mean." 

"Well, fist things first I want to upload those photos to the computer so I can get a better look at them. Analyzing and all that junk. And then I want to do some research on the dude who died in that house. Oh, and before you ask," Velma says, "no, I'm not a hacker. And yes, it is disappointing, I know." 

"Oh," Daphne doesn't really know what to say to that. "So, um, you don't actually know how to hack anything?"

Velma shrugs. "Don't really need to." She enters a passcode into the computer, and it makes a soft humming sound. "Coding's boring as shit anyway. It's just typing away in another language that only computers know. You ever been to one of those coding camps? Boring as shit. Parents ship you away for a few months in the summer, tell you you're gonna learn how to make video games." She makes a gagging face and goes back to typing away at the keyboard. "You think it's gonna be fun but they spend the whole time keeping you locked indoors with no sunlight, programming things that make no sense, and when you emerge you totally get where vampires are coming from." 

Velma grabs her bag, and pulls out her phone, and then a little cord. Quickly and carefully, she plugs the cord into the phone, and then connects the computer to the cord. "It might take a bit for the pictures to upload," she says. "This computer's, like, a thousand years old. I'm gonna make some coffee. You like coffee?"

"Um..." Daphne shrugs. "I like tea?"

"Gross. So does Madelyn. Come on, we've got an electric kettle. I'll put some water on for your tea and then I can make myself coffee."

"You can't do both at once?"

"Nah, wiring's fucked," Velma says, and she wonders why she's telling Daphne all this, wonders why she can't seem to stop. "If you run more than one kitchen appliance at once everything shorts out, lights included." 

Velma shuts her door on the way out, leaving the computer on the floor to download the pictures. On their way back to the kitchen, Velma yells into Madelyn's room that she's "downloading photos onto the computer for super-important police biz," and to "not use any tech while I'm at it I don't want you sucking up all the Internet with your stupid magic video YouTube channels or whatever" to which Madelyn replies that "they're not stupid" and "uploading photos doesn't use WiFi anyway what the hell are you talking about," and "so is she your girlfriend or not, please I need to know, I won't tell anyone" and Daphne wonders what it's like to be able to just _talk_ like this with your siblings, to bicker and poke without it being a competition, without your parents constantly observing and grading your every move. 

When they're back in the kitchen Velma pokes around in the cupboards, looking for tea. "You can get the electric kettle going, just fill it up from the tap and press the big button on the side and you're good to go." 

Daphne nods, even though Velma's not looking at her. 

"Aha!" Velma exclaims, throwing open a drawer. "Found the tea. You good with herbal?"

"Um..." Daphne's not sure how to admit she's never tried it, that her family takes tea the way 'proper' people are meant to, the way _Blakes_ are meant to, the British way. "You got any black tea?"

"Nah Madelyn's a freak - she doesn't drink caffeine ever," Velma flips through the tea bags absentmindedly. "Here, you should try the mint one." 

Daphne goes along with it, standing there awkwardly as Velma grabs a stained mug from another cabinet, dumps the tea bag in it, and then takes a seat on the counter, watching the water boil in silence. 

"So," says Daphne. "What's the plan for the rest of the investigation, again?"

Velma blinks at her. "Oh. Well after the photos are uploaded, I'm gonna get a closer look at them before I look into the dead guy's life and times. I'm already getting the feeling I might need to go out of town over the weekend to snoop around at the residences of some of his lawyers and possible distant relatives." 

"Really?"

"They're all more likely to be criminals than you'd think." Velma's still staring down the water, watching it slowly start to bubble, and Daphne wants to tell her that a watched pot never boils, but Daphne's starting to understand that Velma Dinkley probably doesn't listen to anyone. "I'm probably gonna need to go back to the house, too. Check it out again. And I'll need a way to transport equipment..."

"Oh! I've got you covered." The words are out of Daphne's mouth before she can even think about what she's saying and she's surprised when Velma's looking up at her, finally taking her eyes off the water. "I mean," Daphne explains, "I know a guy. With a van. And a driver's license." 

"Oh. Okay." Velma adjusts her glasses. "You call him, and I'll call in my Ghost Guy." 

"Your _what?"_

Velma groans, like she's only just realizing she's made a stupid mistake. "Forget I said anything."

"No no no," Daphne says, smile already turning mischievous, "you do _not_ just get to drop 'Ghost Guy' in the middle of a sentence. What do you _mean_ Ghost Guy? You have a _Ghost Guy?"_

"Listen. You've got the kid with car, I've got the kid who sees ghosts, we'll both make some calls and pull our weight." 

"Fine," Daphne says. "Deal." 

The water pot chirps, and clicks off. Daphne turns to see that it's boiled, and Velma's already pouring her a cup of tea. She passes it to Daphne. 

"Thanks." 

"No problem." 

"But I'm just going to warn you," Daphne says, picking up from a conversation Velma _desperately_ wishes she'd just let die already. "When I meet this Ghost Guy of yours, I am going to have so many questions prepped for him... first of all, why he thought 'Ghost Guy' would be a good name..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading :D


	4. The Ghost Guy And The Man With The Van

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get to meet Fred and Shaggy in this one!! In my humble opinion if you plan on writing a good piece of long-form Scooby-Doo media, you cannot split up the gang for too long. It just messes up the dynamics, y'know? So this is the one where we meet the boys. I hope you like it!
> 
> Oh, also, a little note to clarify - Shaggy is a nonbinary person who uses he/him pronouns but feels uncomfortable being referred to as a 'boy' or a 'man'. This is a very specific headcanon I have, and I had to include it.

Shaggy Rogers sees ghosts. 

He can't explain why. It doesn't make sense, not really, not when everyone else around him seems so blind. But it's true. He remembers being eight years old, spending his first night in a new house right after his parents moved to town. His mom was working late at the hospital that night, and his father was down at the police station, writing up reports, probably - Shaggy wasn't really sure. He was eight, after all, and high on the feeling of having just moved to a brand new town. His parents were away, so he had a babysitter, and he and the babysitter watched TV and played a few games of chess and Clue, and then it was time for him to go to bed. So Shaggy dragged his short-and-stubby eight-year-old legs up the brand new stair case, and he found the room his parents picked out for him when they bought the house, and he gently pushed the door open and walked through the threshold, and all the hairs on his tiny arms stood up. And when Shaggy saw the dead woman in his bedroom, he did not scream, because she told him that if he did, she would hurt him. She told him that this was her room, not his, and that this house did not belong to his family, and that his family were thieves for trying to take it from her. And Shaggy Rogers nodded and went back down the stairs and snuck past the babysitter and into the kitchen and fell asleep underneath the round oak table, and when his parents found him there in the morning he pretended it was sleepwalking that got him there, and he did not talk about the dead woman in his bedroom, because he might have been eight years old but even eight-year-olds are smart enough to know that regular people don't see dead people, and he was scared that he was losing his mind, and even if he wasn't losing his mind, the dead woman in his bedroom had threatened that she would hurt him if he told anyone about her, so he didn't say a word. And if Shaggy Rogers "sleepwalked" out of his bedroom every single night after that, it could've easily been chalked up to coincidence. 

Little known fact about Coolsville: It may very well be the most haunted town on the West Coast. 

Shaggy should know; he sees ghosts, after all. And it's nowhere near as cool as The Sixth Sense makes it out to be. 

They're fucking everywhere, and he can't do anything about it, because no one else knows. They don't know about the girl in his math classroom who always looks lost, like she can't figure out where she's going, so she paces circles in front of the teacher's desk and sometimes asks Shaggy for directions. They can't see the man in the police station who was done in by a firing squad. They don't know about the old woman in the Goodwill, or the brothers stuck in the elevator uptown. Normal people just look around and see what you're supposed to see - the living. And Shaggy Rogers knows better than to tell anyone about what he can see, so he keeps to himself and pretends that everything's fine, even when everything's _not_ fine, and he feels like he's drowning on air. 

That's the thing all those horror movies don't seem to focus on; the way the dead _feel._ Sure, they talk about how cold it is to walk through them, that sort of shit. And they talk about how sometimes the dead make you feel things you shouldn't feel. Nails scratching down your back that aren't there - that sort of thing. But they miss _so much_ in those cheap horror films, the ones Shaggy would buy from the dollar store downtown a quarter each, because actors in bad makeup with cheap effects gave him the hope that maybe everything was secretly fake, and he was just seeing things. But he knows that he's not, because he feels what the horror movies don't tell you about. Emotions that aren't yours. Thoughts you didn't even know you could think. That sort of weird feeling in your bones, in your stomach, when you're surrounded by lost souls - like there's something inside you trying to worm it's way out, a soft feeling too desperate to be butterflies. An energy that normal people go relatively unaffected by. 

But the animals feel it. The birds avoid the bad places, where the dead are vengeful. Even vultures won't eat meat on the highway where that long-dead murderer still walks. People think that the cats jump at nothing in the shelter by the mall, but Shaggy sees the old woman who walks around there, and he understands where they're coming from. 

Shaggy Rogers understands animals more than people, he thinks. Or maybe animals understand him. 

Either way, it's easy to understand why he ended up with Scooby-Doo as his best friend. The mutt's just as twitchy as he is; Scoob sees the dead woman in Shaggy's bedroom, whimpers at the sight of her. Scoob understands why Shaggy would rather sleep in the garage, or under the bleachers in the gymnasium, or even outside in the gazebo in the park than at home. Scooby-Doo doesn't complain when Shaggy smokes to calm his nerves, to stop himself from thinking too much about the dead people _everywhere._ So Shaggy Rogers gets high, because at least then he can't tell the difference between the dead and the things he sees while he's tripping. Because when he's floating and nauseous at the same time, he can't feel that weird sensation in his feet and in his stomach that means a dead person's nearby.

Shaggy Rogers grows his own marijuana in the lot outside the school, the one with the basketball hoops no one ever uses anymore, and they say it's because the concrete all around them is too cracked to get an even footing on, but Shaggy knows that it's actually because they think the land is haunted. Except Shaggy Rogers sees ghosts, and he knows this land isn't haunted, not at all. So Shaggy grows his weed, here, and sometimes he smokes it here, too, and it's not so bad getting high out back in the parking lot behind the school, because even when he's alone at least he has Scoob to keep him company, and there aren't any ghosts to bother him at all. Scoob's really the perfect dog for him - who knew it was possible for a messed-up Great Dane to see ghosts, too? Or, well, Shaggy assumes as much. Scooby-Doo gets nervous the same places Shaggy does, the places where the mean dead people are. Scooby-Doo refuses to set foot in Shaggy's bedroom, and will happily sleep with him in the basement. Sometimes, Scoob even feels the ghosts before Shaggy does. Scooby keeps him safe. 

Shaggy's out back with Scoob when he gets a phone call from his cousin, and he picks it up to hear Velma's sharp, concise voice in his ear.

"Oh, hey Velma," he says. "Like, what can I do ya for?"

Velma Dinkley doesn't see ghosts. But she didn't laugh at him when he first told her "I can," when he moved to town at eight years old because while her dad's position as the mayor's secretary sure didn't pay well, it left him with enough strings to pull that he could get her out-of-the-job Uncle Rogers a spot at the local police station. Velma Dinkley met Shaggy at a housewarming party, which she thought was funny, because Shaggy's house was the coldest she'd ever been in, despite it being the middle of summer, a time when the AC units in her own home were normally working nonstop. The adults had been talking and drinking, she thinks - if you ask her for details on that bit, she'll say she doesn't quite remember. But she can recall exactly what happened when she spotted the boy hiding under the kitchen table, a trait the adults thought was cute and sweet and something he would grow out of, at the time. 

"What are you doing down here?" She'd asked, and her tone was almost gentle. 

"It's the only safe spot in the house," Shaggy had said. Like that explained everything. 

Velma looked at him like he was a new plant species. Something odd. Something mildly interesting. She remembers taking a seat under the table, and noticing that it _was_ a bit warmer under there. 

"Are you hiding from someone?" She'd asked. 

Shaggy didn't say anything. He looked all around him, searching for _something,_ and when it was seemingly nowhere to be found, he looked her right in the eyes and nodded exactly once. 

Velma thought about this response. It had certainly been interesting. "Who?"

"Like..." Shaggy sighed. "Well, you're gonna think I'm dumb." 

"I won't! Swear it." 

Shaggy shook his head, but finally relented. "I'm hiding... from a _ghost."_

The last word escaped his mouth as a whisper. A prayer. And Velma grabbed it out of the air and held it in her hands and felt the truth inside of it, even if she didn't understand. 

"I see," she said. "What can I do to help?"

Shaggy explained that there was really nothing she could do, as far as he could tell. Of course, he couldn't even give her the details, not while they were in the house with the woman - she didn't seem to like it when Shaggy acknowledged her presence while others were around, had even sent a shock running through him once when he'd finally mustered up enough courage to try and explain to his mom why he couldn't ever sleep. But Shaggy told Velma that he could tell her more, later, if they went on a playdate to her house. He told Velma that he'd walked past her house, once, when his family brought him to the Soda Shop for an ice cream shortly after they'd moved. He told Velma that her house was good. 

"Thank you," he said, when he was finished. "For, like, staying under here, with me. For believing me. I know it's not fun." 

"We're cousins," Velma had said, giving Shaggy a small smile. "We look after each other." 

"Even if you can't see what I see?" He asked. 

She'd nodded. "Especially then." 

It's been a while since he's seen her - she keeps on taking up cases with the cops, and Shaggy's busy just trying to make it in school. They don't really hang out, either - they realized, when they were younger, that they both like being alone, and they understand that about each other. But they see each other at family things, and they have each other's backs. They're cousins. 

They look after each other. 

So when Velma says, "I need to talk to you. About... a ghost." 

Shaggy says, "I see. Like, what can I do to help?"

And he listens to Velma go on about this mystery she's trying to solve for about another couple minutes, and then he hears a voice in the background, someone who sounds like Daphne Blake (that girl who beat him in a cup-stacking competition at the talent show in seventh grade), and he listens to Velma say "I've gotta go, can you meet me at my place?" and she doesn't give a time which means _now_ so Shaggy says "Of course" and then he hears Velma hang up and says, "C'mon Scoob, old buddy" and the Great Dane's ears perk up and his tail gives a little wag and Shaggy smiles at him, feeling a bit giddy, and says, "I think we've got a mystery on our hands." 

* * *

When Daphne Blake said she could arrange a ride for them, Velma didn't expect Fred Jones to show up right outside her front door in a beat-up hippie van, the kind you see in pictures on those shitty PowerPoints they show you in elementary school when they're trying to convince you not to take candy from strangers. At first, Velma assumes it's a misunderstanding. Fred Jones, Junior Prom King, captain of the Cheer Team, absolutely _horrible_ at Latin but the teacher lets him slide through it because he's Fred Jones, and why shouldn't they? Fred Jones, first, founding, only and _final_ member of Coolsville's Rube Goldberg Machine Appreciate Society, and well, now that Velma's really thinking about it, maybe it's no real surprise that he's the sort of kid who would ride around in a shitty van with flowers airbrushed on the sides.

"You've gotta let him in, y'know," Daphne says. 

"You didn't tell me your ride was _Fred Jones,_ " Velma replies, trying not to clench her jaw too much. 

Daphne sighs, but it's in that playful way she's so fond of, the way she seems to do _everything._ She flashes Velma that beauty-pageant grin, and then she walks over to the front door, bringing her mug of tea with her, and Velma can't think of anything to do but go back to making herself coffee and regretting her life choices. Because if Fred Jones is going to start solving mysteries with her, she's reconsidering the whole _I work alone_ thing she had going on. Sure, Daphne's cute. But _Fred Jones?_ Even if he's just the van boy...

"Hey Fred!" Daphne says, and he's coming inside just as Velma hears a, "Zoinks!" and a crashing noise and a dog bark from the other end of the house, and she _knows_ Shaggy's come in the regular entrance. Velma doesn't even tell Daphne she's going to meet their other visitor - she just puts the coffee pot on and goes to meet her cousin. 

"You smell bad," she says, helping him up from where he's collapsed, a pile on the floor with Scooby-Doo sitting politely beside him. Velma didn't even _imagine_ that dogs could be polite before she met Scooby-Doo, the weirdest Great Dane she thinks she's ever had the odd luck of meeting. Velma hooks an arm around Shaggy's waist, lifting him up, and she's thankful when Scooby helps, nudging Shaggy into a standing position. "Do you need anything? A shower? Deodorant?"

Velma knows that the Shaggy's bathroom is one of the worst spots in his house, right after the bedroom. She knows that when he looks in the mirror, his eyes glow, and that when he gets in the tub he hears a woman's voice screaming at him to leave. She wishes Shaggy would stay over here more often, or at least use the facilities every now and then. She knows he doesn't want to be a burden, that he thinks he's already placed too much on his shoulders, but when she sees him like this, she has to try to talk him into it. 

"Deodorant might be nice," Shaggy admits. "Oh... and, like, this one's probably a stretch, but do you have any more of those cookies you made me and Scoob?"

"Scooby Snax?" Velma asks, and she can't help but smile. "Technically, _Madelyn_ made them... I just handed them to you when I saw them at school." 

"Yes! Scooby Snax... incredible food..." 

Velma promises she has them on hand for him as they walk to the kitchen together, Scoob in close pursuit, and Velma can almost hear him mumbling _Scooby Snax, rum!_ as he follows them to the front of the house, but she tells herself it's just the product of an imagination she didn't know she had, and she sits the two of them down on the stools at the counter (Scooby has always _insisted_ on being included, despite being, well, a dog) and she reaches in the cupboards for the cookies she knows Madelyn saved in a tupperware somewhere, and when Daphne Blake says "Who's this?" most likely upon spotting Shaggy for the first time, Velma doesn't even turn and look at her to respond. 

"He's our Ghost Guy." Velma says. Like it's obvious.

Fred raises an eyebrow. "Ghost Boy?"

"Ghost Guy, actually," Shaggy says. "Not a boy. Kept the pronouns, though." 

"Aha!" Velma says, spinning around to where her cousin sits, tupperware of cookies held victoriously above her head. 

"Like, thanks, Velm," Shaggy says, and Scooby's already digging in. He shoves a few in his mouth before turning back to Fred. "But, uh, yeah. Not a boy. Hence the 'guy'. Also, Ghost Guy sounds better." 

"Sure does!" Velma says, and this is the brightest Daphne's ever heard her, and she wonders if Velma's like this normally, or if Shaggy brings it out in her, or maybe it's the thrill of the mystery that does it, something to solve, something to unravel, and Daphne thinks there's so much she wants to learn about Velma, so much she doesn't know...

Fred nods, like this is a lot of information to take in. "So... you see the dead?" 

Shaggy shrugs. "Like, yeah." 

"What's it like?"

"I dunno. It's like seeing the living, I guess." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Except there's no consequences for the dead, and I don't think they feel fear the way we do." 

Daphne Blake watches the two of them talk to each other. Fred's not much for talking, so the fact that he's been able to keep up this much chit-chat with a stranger is frankly rather impressive, for him. Fred prefers less talking, more _doing._ Daphne thinks that's why the two of them get along so well. When Daphne Blake first met Fred Jones freshman year, she thought she knew what he was all about. Daphne listens to what people say, after all - it's her whole thing. She remembers people talking about promiscuity. Maybe gambling. Some sort of fucked up home life. And then Daphne remembers meeting Fred Jones and realizing that sometimes, you had to take the rumors with a bit of salt, because yes, Fred Jones had a pretty shit family to deal with, but other than that, all the gossip was wrong. Fred Jones kept to himself, had never even been on a date in his life - still hasn't, if Daphne's counting, because in her opinion going to Junior Prom does _not_ count, especially when you're going with your gay friend to throw his homophobic dad off the scent. Fred Jones is clever, if seemingly vacant at times. He doesn't gamble because he's terrified of addiction to _anything,_ and he's heard what gambling can do. Oh, and Fred Jones is gay. And Daphne's the only person who knows about it.

"Um, like, no offense," Shaggy says, trying to keep polite. "But how do you two know each other?"

"Oh!" Daphne lights up. "We were on the Cheer Team together until I had to quit because it turned into a conflict when my bassoon teacher retired and I had to reschedule bassoon, which caused a conflict with my glass-blowing class, so then I moved that to Wednesdays and I-"

"I think he gets the point, Daph," Fred says, clearly trying to suppress a laugh. 

"What about you and Velma?" Asks Daphne. 

"Cousins," Shaggy's voice is muffled by Scooby Snax, and when Daphne thinks about it, it makes sense. She remembers when the Rogers family moved to town, when the Dinkley family kept visiting them, and vice verse. It was fresh gossip for a while as to what exactly they were getting up to, and Daphne may have been eight at the time, but her parents started her young. She takes a sip of her tea, and she realizes it's gone cold, now. She pretends she doesn't mind, and finishes it in one go before setting the mug down in the sink. 

"Alright," Fred says. "What's the deal?"

Velma Dinkley explains _everything._ The mysterious death, the empty house, the missing will, the freaking _ghost,_ the supposed inheritance, and all the possible leads they might have so far. She explains how she stumbled onto this mystery and Daphne followed her blindly into it. She explains how Fred's here to drive them, somewhere, even if they haven't decided what 'Where' is, yet. She explains that Shaggy's here as their ghost expert, to debunk and verify when needed. Shaggy tells everyone that Scoob's just along for the ride. And then they're done explaining, out of breath and high on words, and the room falls silent except for the sound of the electric fan spinning above them and Madelyn practicing a new magic trick in her room through thin walls and the sounds of all of their hearts beating, so deafeningly loud. And then Fred puts his hands on his hips, and looks at the four of them expectantly. 

"Okay, gang," Fred says, like they've all known each other forever. "What's the plan?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this!! I have SO MANY thoughts abt both Shaggy and Fred... I feel like Fred specifically is such an under-developed character in canon and I can literally go on an entire rant about how he's been done dirty ever since the 1980s but I can't fit it into an end note hdsafhjskahfkjsad. If you enjoyed this chapter please leave comments and kudos :D and if you want to hear me go on that Fred rant or talk about he/him nonbinary Shaggy, you can find me on tumblr [here](https://homeworkforpigeons.tumblr.com) <3


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